Anyone who's uttered "They're good, but... every song sounds the same" with that... tone ("and what are YOU lookin' at, jabroni?") has never listened to and enjoyed a really, really good 'n' snappy set of tunes like The Ramones, Love Songs for the Retarded, or Psycho Candy. Experimenting and finagling with different sounds can't be downplayed, but neither can the true grit of a group of musicians with a vision so singular, so thick-headed that its founders can't do anything but charge forward like a pack of developmentally challenged buffalo hoofing it at the crack of a gun shot.

Comprised of drummer/vocalist Amanda Ziemba and guitarist/vocalist/etc Joe Ziemba (married? Bro/sis? YOU decide), The Like Young, short of pasting a career-defining work into the scrapbook of boy-girl tandem rock, do what any self-respecting pop act does. They write simple, catchy songs that all sound... erp!... uniform. Literally. No shit. So when you hear give-or-take the exact same riff introduce every song on Last Secret, you'll know that The Like Young are in good company. Dey, derrr, Keep It Thimple, Ssssstoopid, with rudimentary guitar parts that jus' won't quit, sober drums, and absolutely precious chick-dude harmonies that propel the duo's entire attack. The only complaint might be that Joey Z. doesn't fare too well when he mans the mic on his own, over-enunciating and getting all wanky wit' it à la that firecrotch from Eve 6. Okay, I didn't mean that...

The lyrics are pretty yadda-yadda – as so many are these days – and as you can probably tell, The Like Young don't really veer from their predetermined path too often. They diddle around with loops and what-not occasionally like the rest of us, but their vision is singular, dedicated to the sort of buzz-heavy power-pop that's tough to resist, especially if you're in one of those moods where you're dancing around the room like a nappy-kneed ninny, practically forcing your friends to piss on your face when you finally fall asleep (or is that just a Grant thing?). Just cue up "Obviously Desperate" and let the golden shower cover you with gooey goodness... jesus, did I write that or just think it? Mmmmm, tummy want wag-wag...